


To Give and Not Expect Return

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Lots of Food, M/M, Oral Sex, made up christmas celebration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Zolf and Oscar have never had to give each other presents before.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2020





	To Give and Not Expect Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makesometime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/gifts).



Zolf can barely remember the last time he participated in a Solstice where actual gifts were exchanged. The free traders he’d been with before the business in London had had a party, the one solstice he’d been with them, and there’d been a lot of booze and one man overboard (they’d fished him out, nothing worse than a bit of salt in his beard and he’d been good natured enough about it). He supposed they’d given him the gift of life, but no one on board had the time or the inclination to find personal gifts for each other.

It wasn’t exactly frowned upon in the navy - but it wasn’t as though they got paid a lot of money, and most folk who could get leave for Solstice did. Zolf, who was too ashamed to go back for the first few years then found he had no one to go back  _ to _ \- so he stayed on ship with the skeleton crew, none of whom seemed inclined to celebrate. 

That was fine with him.

And then the simulacrum had happened and the world had collapsed and there hadn’t been the time or the inclination to exchange gifts. He’d been in quarantine for the first Solstice in Japan, didn’t know if Wilde or Barnes or Carter even celebrated it.

But now the world was saved and they were fine, everyone was  _ fine.  _ And Zolf had plans, and he had plans with Wilde and they were  _ going  _ to go on that holiday, and then he had a private fantasy of maybe a cottage, somewhere close to the sea, somewhere with a big kitchen and a library and maybe… a cat? 

A cat seemed right. A dog too, perhaps. He’d always wanted a dog.

“Solstice next week,” Wilde says from across the table. He is reading a paper - one of the first to get back on its feet since London had been reclaimed. There is a small picture of them in the bottom left hand corner of the front page, a stub article rather than a full page, which. They are beginning to not be the only news, which is something of a relief, although it might have happened a bit sooner if Hamid hadn’t kept insisting on talking to the press.

Wilde had taken a back seat, surprisingly, waving a hand when Zolf asked him about it. “Hamid was always better at that sort of thing,” he’d said, airily, which Zolf privately thinks isn’t actually true. 

_ Solstice next week.  _ Gods. Why that phrase sends a shiver of panic through him he isn’t entirely certain.

“You celebrate it?”

Wilde grins at him over his paper. “Naturally. There’s nothing more lovely than giving and receiving gifts, don’t you think?”

Zolf swallows. Tries desperately to remember the last gift he’d gotten… the last gift he’d given.

His brother had given him a geode, one solstice, one he’d found in the mine, back when they were all still trying to convince him that mining was something he’d enjoy if he just got over this obsession with the sea.

The last gift he’d given… well. He glances down at Oscar’s hands, still lightly holding the paper, the platinum ring on the third finger of one of them glinting in the morning light. Its partner lives on  _ his  _ third finger - a promise of protection. Of understanding. It hadn’t been about ceremony, at least not then, but the danger to them has all but passed and neither of them seem inclined to take them off.

“You’re not a fan of it, I take it then, Zolf?”

“Hasn’t been much time to think about presents for folks, the last few years.” Does Oscar’s hand twitch a little, on the paper? Or is that Zolf’s imagination?

“The gift of your presence has certainly been enough for me,” Oscar says, and Zolf, who still hasn’t gotten used to the casual way Oscar expresses affection, blushes.

“Did you…” Zolf toys with the crust of toast left on his plate, mind racing. “Did you want to celebrate it this year? With me?”

Oscar puts down the paper at that, raising an eyebrow (he still gets a shock at the whiteness of them, blinks and sees a line of scar tissue where one is no longer, blinks again and sees waves of soft dark hair, again and sees it ragged and short and blood streaming down his face). 

“We used to have a big dinner, in Ireland,” he says, softly. “My mother, my sister, my brother and I. Well, as big as we could afford. Largely potatoes, although my mother could do amazing things with them. And we’d give each other silly things we’d found or made. I wrote a poem for my sister once, she made me a doll out of sticks and cloth.”

“What about your brother?”

“Oh Willie used to promise not to kick dirt in my face for the week afterwards. Never followed through on that though.” Oscar grins, and the sting comes out of the words. 

He’s been doing this a lot more, lately. Giving Zolf parts of his past, talking about the family he left behind. Isola is dead, lost to a fever when she was still a child. His mother, shortly before the crisis in London hit, at a very ripe old age “Still complaining bitterly about having to live in England” according to Oscar. Willie is still somewhere around, but when Zolf suggested they make contact with him Oscar just rolled his eyes. “If he wants to talk to me he only has to look in the papers,” he’d said. “Provided he’s finally managed to learn how to read.”

There is a whole story there, that Zolf is sure will eventually come out.

Truth is, he loves it when Oscar does this. He doesn’t want to press or ask twenty questions, doesn’t want to see the entirety of Oscar’s life spread out before him so he can pick at it, he simply enjoys that Oscar feels comfortable enough with him to share things like this every now and then, aach little revelation a gift in of itself.

A gift.

Gods.

“I can cook you potatoes,” Zolf says and Oscar’s eyes light up. 

“Your potatoes are objectively the best potatoes, Zolf,” he says. 

“We could do a goose? Maybe?”

Oscar gives a happy sigh, and Zolf feels warmth spreading in his gut. In the months since they’ve been back, Oscar has been eating and sleeping better than Zolf has ever seen - and it’s beginning to show. The pure enjoyment he takes in food, now that he is not utterly consumed by work is remarkable to behold, and Zolf feels fiercely possessive whenever Oscar demonstrates it.

“Fine then. We can invite the others if you’d like? I think Cel and Barnes are still in the mediterranean but they might be able to snag a teleport and I know Hamid is always up for a good meal…”

“Zolf, I don’t need you to throw a party for it, I know you don’t like…”

“Not a party. Just. A dinner with family. With friends.”

Oscar reaches over and pats Zolf’s hand, twice, before clasping it. An old gesture between them, one that never fails to make him roll his eyes, even as it makes his heart thump hard against his ribcage. “If you’re up to it, I think that would be lovely.”

#

“Oh Oscar that sounds delightful!” Hamid says. Oscar has come to his flat - newly refurbished since their first meeting all those years ago to reflect the more sombre and responsible life of the halfling sorcerer. Books of magic and magical items are displayed proudly on the shelves and in cases, and the carpet is thick and soft under Oscar’s feet. Oscar had even knocked, this time, although he  _ had  _ been tempted to break in, for old time’s sake. Still he is rather well known on the streets these days and it was more difficult to be inconspicuous with a shock of white hair. 

“You’ll come?”

“I think Azu and Kiko are in town as well, Azu said she’d be arriving before solstice.”

“Perfect. I’ll be sure to buy extra potatoes.”

Hamid offers him a drink, which he takes, Hamid’s booze is always excellent, although he hasn’t quite the taste for it he used to, since the resurrection, not quite the head for it either. Zolf had explained that the healing ritual had healed  _ everything,  _ all the little aches and pains that had come with hard use of his body over the years had disappeared when he’d come back from the dead, and as such he has the head for alcohol of a much younger Oscar Wilde - more akin to his undergraduate days than his current sombre more-than-forty and happily settled lifestyle. So he sips the brandy delicately and appreciates its flavour rather than the tingling warmth that follows it down into his belly.

He sits in the armchair he sat in more than two years ago as Hamid stokes the fire. The room is warm - too warm for Oscar, really, but Zolf has been kind enough to give him endure elements whenever he needs to move about in society - a godsend in the summer and very handy when he’s forced into the home of a dragonblood sorcerer who grew up in a desert.

“Are you settling in? The new flat suits you?”

“I think Zolf thinks it’s too fancy,” Oscar says. “But we’re not planning on staying too long in any case.”

Hamid gives him a smile. “The cottage by the sea, yes? I always thought that was so romantic of you. Worthy of a Campbell novel.”

“I haven’t talked much about it with Zolf, but there is a place I’m thinking of, yes.” He trails off, thinking of their earlier discussion about the solstice, thinking of the knot of worry in his chest that has been there since the words fell out of his mouth.

“What would you get him?” he blurts, finally.

“Sorry, Oscar?”

“As a present. If you were going to give Zolf a present, what would you get him?”

Hamid blinks and sips at his drink. “Oh. Well he likes the sea, and a good ale, and… well…” he gives Oscar a knowing smile and a wink. “He likes  _ you.” _

Oscar grins at Hamid over the lip of his glass. “Well he already has  _ me,”  _ he says. “At least four times a…”

Hamid theatrically slaps his hands over his ears. “I am  _ not  _ listening to that, Oscar. Really.”

Oscar chews at his lower lip, swirling ice. “Contrary to all previous experiences, I’m actually being serious. I was so caught up in the idea of having a solstice celebration with him that I never thought of what one would get for him as a gift.”

Hamid makes a face. “He’s not really… one for material possessions, is he? You know pretty much from the time we left London he had nothing but the clothes on his back? Spent all his money on buying off his commission in Dover and then…”

Oscar sighs, remembering. “And then you tried to give him literally thousands of gold pieces in Hiroshima.”

“And he and Azu gave most of it away. Well. Zolf did. Azu bought a lot of marbles as well.”

Oscar sips his drink, and Hamid tilts his head, perching on one of the other chairs (halfling sized) and clasping his hands between his knees.

“Out of all of us, you know him best, Oscar,” he says, gently. “You always did, I think.”

That was the problem.

#

Zolf doesn’t feel the cold much, these days, never really had after he went to sea. There is something about the bone deep chill of the ocean that lingers, once you’ve been in it for long enough, and his dwarven constitution also helps.

Still, London has a way of getting to him. It’s cold enough to snow, but instead of snow there is a dreary pervading sleet falling on the streets, which are far emptier than they were before the world ended. Still, there are signs of life, people moving about and shopping and attempting to get back to the lives that had been postponed for so long. 

He thinks he’ll talk to Oscar about moving sooner than they’d planned. 

Azu and Kiko are staying at an inn in Whitechapel, a nice enough place even though the area is still a little run down. It serves a good chicken pie, from what Zolf remembers, and so he’s meeting them there for lunch.

“A dinner?” Azu says. “For solstice?”

“Just you and Kiko and maybe Cel and Barnes and Hamid - nothing too big. It’s been hard to get everyone in the same place and we all deserve a bit of a celebration without the press breathing down our necks.”

“You cooking?” Kiko asks, eyebrow raised.

“I wouldn’t get Oscar to do it,” Zolf says, chuckling.

Kiko grins. “Well I’m in. Do you think Wilde’ll play chess with me finally?”

“I think he’ll try to get out of it, he doesn’t like losing, as you know.”

Kiko nods again, then excuses herself to get them some drinks.

“Something’s bothering you,” Azu says, as soon as Kiko is out of earshot. 

Azu always bloody knows. He shouldn’t even bother trying to hide things from her at this point.

“You sure  _ we  _ didn’t die and come back with a psychic connection?”

“Zolf, you’re not that hard to read. Do you  _ want  _ to have a party for solstice? I know you’re not big on…”

“Why does everyone assume I’m not big on parties?” Azu gives him a warm smile and he rolls his eyes. “No I want to have everyone over. I miss you all and it’ll be nice to have a meal together when we’re not worried about the rest of the world collapsing around us, yeah?”

Azu smiles again. “Of course,” she says. “So what is it that’s bothering you?”

“I have to buy a present for him,” Zolf says. “For Wilde. And I have no fucking idea what to get him.”

Azu blinks. “Oh, is that a solstice tradition?”

“Well, yeah,” of course, Azu would have different traditions, she couldn’t have known. “You’re meant to get together and eat the best of the winter stores before they go bad and then you tell stories to each other and exchange gifts.”

“Stories?” Kiko comes back to the table with drinks, and Zolf busies himself with taking a long draft of his ale. “You tell stories at solstice?”

Zolf shifts. “Sometimes,” he says. 

“Well Oscar should like that very much,” Azu says, softly. “No need for gifts to be exchanged as well. I think,” she says again, reaching out to take Kiko’s hand and squeezing it, “the greatest gift we have right now is each other.”

“That’s a very nice sentiment Azu but I still need to find him a fucking present.”

Azu reaches across the table and squeezes Zolf’s hand, just as the pies arrive. “You’ll think of something,” she says, but Zolf is not reassured.

#

Oscar doesn’t have to do very much in the way of shopping for food for this particular evening’s entertainment, but the flat very much needs decorations, and so he wanders Oxford street, ostensibly looking for them, but actually looking for a gift for Zolf. They have a tree, a tiny potted pine that Oscar has festooned with glass and sparkles (he plans to cast an illusion on the night to make it light up) and Zolf keeps grumbling that he cannot turn around without getting a faceful of tinsel. He smiles when he does it though, and his smile is free of worry and responsibility and Oscar wants to buy more tinsel and put it absolutely everywhere just to see that smile again and again and again.

He is wandering along one of the back streets behind Oxford street - those more narrow laneways that used to hold less salubrious shops, run down antiques and second rate magical items that were only half likely to work correctly - when something in a shop window catches his eye.

It’s the movement, obviously, the movement of water in a stationary object, and he turns his head and approaches it with curiosity.

The shop is pretty much what one would expect from the shops in this district, a jumble of items arranged with some small skill for display in the window. The piece that had caught his eye isn’t even in the centre, instead off to one side and towards the back, near a truly hideous lamp shaped like a naked woman and what looks like a sewing machine. 

It is a large, clear bottle, with a ship in it. Not out of the ordinary in of itself, Oscar has seen similar ships in bottles all over the world. This one is remarkably well made, however, small and intricate details, realistically aged and warped wood on the hull, tiny ropes and rigging, wide, beautifully sewn sails. But what is remarkable about this ship is that it is moving.

There is water in the bottle, and it isn’t clear and still, but deep blue-green and choppy with waves that rock the boat back and forth. Wind snaps in its sails and Oscar can almost hear the creak of the wooden boards, can almost smell the salt of the spray that occasionally scatters across its deck.

The ship is alive.

He is inside the shop before he even realises his feet are moving. It’s much the same as the exterior, a jumble of items, many of the magic variety, although none as obviously so as the ship. He makes his way to the window where the ship is displayed and watches the play of the water, expecting the illusion - or whatever magic it is - to repeat itself, to show signs of being something other than a ship on the ocean. It doesn’t. He watches for fully five minutes and as he does the water, which had been churning and choppy when he was outside, smooths to a gentle, rolling wave, something like the sea on a clear summer day.

“It’s caught you, eh?” a voice from behind him says, and he turns to see a dwarven woman of indeterminate age standing behind him. She’s fat, with a round, cheerful face, lines etched into it from smiling and laughter, grey hair caught up in a bun. He sees her eyes flicker up to his own hair, bright white against the peacock green of his coat, and back down to his face, and one eyebrow twitches. “You look like you might have been through more than most of us, mate,” she says.

He can’t place her accent, but he starts to smile.

“Ah, you’d be the mysterious and insightful shopkeeper, here to tell me that the ship has chosen me or is destined to be in my possession or that we were meant for each other or some such, is that it?”

She laughs. It’s a big, beautiful, free sound, and Oscar feels his heart lift at the sound of it. He can’t remember the last time he heard a laugh like that.

“Somethin’ like that,” she says. “Or I could just say it’s five gold pieces and if you wants I could giftwrap it for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. Five gold pieces for something obviously enchanted seems remarkably cheap. She sees the eyebrow raise and shrugs. 

“Is it cursed?” he asks.

She laughs again. “No,” she says. “But if you’d like to get it checked by one of the cults…” 

He tilts his head. She doesn’t seem the type to lie. And in any case he and Zolf have dealt with far worse things in this world than a cursed ship in a bottle.

It might even be fun.

“Do you have any green ribbon?” he asks, and she grins.

#

Zolf shops with most of the leftover determination and efficiency he got from the navy. When he and Oscar moved into the flat in Knightsbridge he’d done a circuit of the area on foot and noted the best places to buy food and drink and checked their prices and tested their quality and their kitchen (smaller than the one in the inn, but still outfitted beautifully) had been properly stocked and fully equipped since then. 

Oscar is not allowed in the kitchen, unless invited, or unless he asks very, very nicely. 

It’s the day before Solstice and the streets are much, much busier than they have been up to now, which is irritating for Zolf, but not so irritating as finding out the goose he has ordered hasn’t been properly prepped. The butcher is all apologies, waving at the long line of customers and explaining the lateness of deliveries, promising Zolf that it will be ready within the hour and Zolf is persuaded not to create water on his head, instead wanders back out into the street. There is a bookshop on the corner and he wonders if there might be news of a new Campbell.

The bookshop is one of those ones that also stocks high end stationary and when it becomes obvious that no one there knows anything about the new Campbell’s release date he wanders over there, drawn by a case of particularly fine looking pens.

Oscar has written a few articles, since their return to London, but nothing further. Frankly it’s been a relief to see him  _ not  _ sitting behind a desk stacked with paper, but the pens here are things of beauty. One particular one, a fountain pen in black with mother-of-pearl trimmings, catches his eye and he can’t help but think of it nestled in Oscar’s long fingers as he writes something that  _ isn’t  _ reports for Curie or tallies of supplies or lists of names of the missing or dead.

The goose is ready by the time he returns to the butcher’s, and Zolf hums a sea shanty under his breath and he carries all his packages home.

#

The meal, is, of course, delicious. The goose is delicately flavoured, succulent and tender, the potatoes, creamed and baked to perfection. The other dishes are simple but filling and nourishing, the kind of food that leaves one sighing with the desire to eat just one more bite, shifting in one’s seat in the hope that one can make room for just a little more. Zolf watches him eat with eyes that glint, and Oscar doesn’t resist putting on something of a show for him, savouring each bite and licking his lips between them, but with everyone else at the table he keeps it to a minimum, especially seeing as Carter has managed to make it and there are still times when their post-resurrection connection rears its head.

Zolf serves an enormous jam tart to finish off the meal and there are collective groans from everyone apart from Hamid at the thought of eating more. They manage it, of course, heaped with clotted cream, sipping brandy and enjoying each other’s company. When Zolf suggests they move to the living room there are more groans, but it is nice to sit on their lounge rather than around the table, Cel and Barnes choosing to sit on the thick rug in front of the fire while Zolf leans against Oscar, Azu and Kiko draped opposite with Hamid’s head in Azu’s lap and Kiko resting hers on Azu’s shoulder and Carter in Oscar’s big armchair with his feet swung over the arm.

It  _ is  _ a gift, to have them all here, to have them all safe and warm and free of care, and Oscar drops a kiss to the top of Zolf’s head in silent thanks for his efforts.

“That was, without a doubt, one of the best meals I’ve ever had the privilege to eat,” Hamid says, voice slightly slurred from the brandy and the wine before that. 

“You can take the rest of the tart home with you, if you like,” Zolf says, and Oscar makes a noise of protest.

“I was going to have that for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Gods, sweets for breakfast?” Kiko says. “I’ll never understand the English.”

“Not English,” Oscar says mildly. “If I didn’t like you so much I’d have to challenge you to a duel for that comment.”

“You’d lose,” Carter says.

Oscar waggles his fingers at the man. “Not if I cheated.”

“Let’s  _ not  _ have a magical duel in Zolf and Oscar’s living room,” Azu says, then sighs. “But it is getting late and Kiko and I need to pack.” She shifts and Hamid grumbles, heaving himself up off her lap. The others follow suit, gathering things, hugging and kissing folks goodbye and Oscar feels like he's floating on a sea of happiness.

Once they’ve all departed he flops dramatically back down on the lounge. 

“You’re not going to help me clean up?” Zolf says.

“You’re lucky I can even move,” Oscar replies. “I haven’t eaten that much in  _ years.” _

Zolf shoves his legs off the lounge so he can sit next to Oscar and Oscar makes space for him to nuzzle up against his chest. “You need fattening up,” he says, muffled slightly by Oscar’s shirt.

“What for? Are you planning on serving me up to be eaten next Solstice?”

“Not letting anyone  _ else  _ eat you,” Zolf says, and Oscar laughs delightedly, warmth settling in his gut.

They lie in pleasant silence for a while before Zolf shifts against him, fishing in a pocket and pulling out a small box tied with purple ribbon.

“I… got you something. For solstice.” 

Oscar blinks, then shifts. “Well, that’s a coincidence because I got you something too. Stay there a moment.” He gets to his feet, which is a little more difficult than usual given the food and the brandy, and fetches the package from their room. When he gets back Zolf is still sitting on the couch holding the box, looking a little sheepish, so Oscar leans forward and presses his lips to his cheek. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he says. 

“Same. You didn’t have to get me anything either.”

“And yet here we are,” Oscar says, grinning and sitting next to him.

They exchange the boxes and Oscar opens his first. It is beautiful - a pen like the ones he’d had before the world ended - weighted in a way that Oscar knows will make it a delight to use. He looks at it for a long moment, then up at Zolf whose own box is sitting in his lap, untouched, eyes fixed on Oscar’s hands, lip caught between his teeth. He’s nervous. Terrified, Oscar realises, that he might have done the wrong thing, bought the wrong gift and Oscar loves him  _ so very much. _

“Zolf, it’s perfect,” he says. 

“I thought you could… I dunno. Write our story. Or a new play or something.”

“I have  _ many  _ ideas already.”

“You’re not allowed to do paperwork with it, though.”

Oscar leans over and kisses Zolf over the scar on his temple, threading a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t dream of sullying it with anything so mundane as business, my love.” 

He feels some of the tension go out of Zolf at that, and leans down to nibble at the shell of Zolf’s ear. “Are you going to open yours or keep me in suspense forever?”

Zolf swats him away from his ear and unwraps the bottle.

OScar hasn’t looked at it, since bringing it home from the shop, and he is relieved to see that it’s as beautiful as he remembers - the ship exquisitely detailed, the enchantment that keeps it moving still in effect. Zolf sits it in his lap, one finger tracing the glass, eyes following the movement of the waves.

“Oscar,” he breathes.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“Yes!” 

He lets out a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure. It made me think of you when I bought it but I thought maybe you wouldn’t be happy to have a reminder of the sea considering you no longer partake of the nautical lifestyle.”

Zolf is still watching the ship’s gentle rocking. It’s snowing, soft flakes falling around the ship and Oscar glances up to the window to realise that it’s matching the weather outside. When he looks back Zolf is smiling. 

“Well I don’t have to be on the ocean to see it, now, which is a relief considering how petty Poseidon still is about the whole…” he waves a hand to indicate his hair and his legs, and Oscar catches it and brings to his lips. 

“You really, truly like it?” he murmurs against Zolf’s knuckles.

Zolf extricates his hand from Oscar and gently sets the ship on a table, then turns back to take both of Oscar’s hands. “It’s beautiful,” he says, then leans forward to kiss him.

It’s perfect. It always is perfect when Zolf kisses him, from the very first time they’d decided to give it a try, a thousand years ago. Zolf’s fingers brush back and forth over the backs of Oscar’s hands, then one hand trails up past his wrist, over his shoulder to rest in the curve of his throat, callouses rough against Oscar’s skin.

He shivers, pulling Zolf in so he’s trapped between Oscar’s knees, breaking off to kiss Zolf’s cheek, Zolf’s ear, Zolf’s neck, humming under his breath in pure contentment. Zolf lets go of Oscar’s other hand and tugs at Oscar’s shirt, pulling it out of his pants, and Oscar lets out a laugh against Zolf’s neck.

“If I’d known giving you presents would have this effect you wouldn’t be able to move for them.”

“‘S a special occasion,” Zolf says, slipping his hand into Oscar’s trousers and cupping him through his underwear. “Not just about the present. Never is.” Oscar pushes his hips forward and into Zolf’s hand, letting out a small moan as his fingers trace up and down the length of his cock.

“So,” Oscar’s voice hitches as Zolf tugs his underwear out of the way and gets a better grip on him. “Special occasions would include birthdays? Solstice? The anniversary of saving the world…”

“Mmmhmmmm.”

“Can I…  _ gods…  _ can we celebrate things like… breakfast? Tuesdays? Tuesdays are very special to me you know I feel…  _ oh…  _ that they  _ definitely  _ constitute a special occasi… mmmmfff…” Zolf cuts him off by kissing him and twisting his wrist just  _ so  _ and Oscar is so close already, hard and hot and needy in Zolf’s  _ magical  _ hand but he wants more than this, wants to see Zolf, touch him, feel him around and inside him so he pushes him back reluctantly so they can move elsewhere. 

They manage to get to the bedroom without stumbling too much, Oscar stripping as he goes, and Zolf fetches oil from the dresser. “Let me see you,” Oscar says, sitting on the bed and reaching up to undo Zolf’s buttons, pushing his shirt off his shoulders to reveal Zolf’s wide, familiar and beautiful chest. Oscar peppers his tattoos with kisses while Zolf runs his fingers through Oscar’s hair and down his back. Oscar is gratified when he catches his breath as Oscar sucks on a nipple, then kisses down the trail of hair leading to his trousers.

“Off,” he says into Zolf’s hip, tugging at his belt, mouth watering at the obvious bulge in Zolf’s trousers.

“Thought you had manners,” Zolf says gruffly, but he makes short work of his belt and kicks his trousers to the side. Oscar makes a helpless little sound when he turns back, reaching out for Zolf’s thick, heavy cock, wrapping a hand around it and leaning down to rub his cheek against it. 

“Go on then,” Zolf says, and Oscar swallows him, works him into his throat the way he knows Zolf loves, relishing the feel of his fingers in his hair, tugging with enough pressure to sting. 

He knows the rhythms of Zolf’s pleasure better than his own, at this point, and relishes in the push and pull of his hips, the feel of him on his tongue, hands reaching up to smooth over his arse, ghosting between his cheeks, digging his nails into Zolf’s skin. When the noises Zolf is making indicate that he’s getting close he pulls off Zolf’s cock, licking a stripe up its length and smiling up into his eyes.

“Gods,” Zolf breathes, reaching out to brush white hair out of Oscar’s eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Oscar doesn’t say anything, just edges back onto the bed, holding out a hand for the oil. Zolf shakes his head. “Let me.”

Oscar has no objections.

A few moments later and Oscar is writhing on the bed while Zolf works him open, thick, glorious fingers searching and finding the places that make Oscar buck his hips and cry out, babbling his pleasure. “I love you,” he gasps. “You’re perfect, unbelievable, gorgeous oh  _ gods  _ Zolf please, please  _ gods, fuck me…” _

Zolf kisses him, gently removing his fingers, then moves into position, lifting one of Oscar’s legs with one strong hand and hooking it over his shoulder so he can slide his cock into Oscar, stretching him, filling him perfectly the way only Zolf can.

Zolf shuts his eyes and throws his head back when he bottoms out and Oscar glories in the sight of him,  _ his  _ Zolf,  _ his  _ partner,  _ his  _ lover. Oscar doesn’t think he’s ever felt more grateful than he does in this moment, until Zolf starts to move and Oscar’s mind goes blank with blissful, all encompassing pleasure.

It doesn’t take them long, Oscar reaching between them to stroke his cock in time with Zolf’s thrusts until it pushes him over the edge, Zolf following almost immediately afterwards with a long, drawn out moan, collapsing forward onto Oscar with his full, glorious weight. Oscar tangles his hand in Zolf’s hair, hooking his leg around Zolf’s waist, determined to keep him there for as long as possible. He feels safe. Cared for. Loved.

Eventually Zolf lifts his head and gently disengages and Oscar lets out a soft sigh of disappointment before prestidigitating them both clean. Zolf flops onto his back, breath still coming a little heavy. 

“Hard work after such a big meal,” he says, and Oscar laughs. 

“We should have gotten that out of the way before dinner,” he says, and Zolf reaches down to hold Oscar’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Maybe next time,” Zolf says. 

Oscar turns his head, smiling at Zolf. “Tuesday?” he says, hopefully, and Zolf mock swipes at him before leaning in for a soft, tender kiss. He sighs when they break apart and Zolf readjusts himself, tucked up against Oscar, head pillowed by Oscar’s chest. They’re not under the covers but Oscar is rarely even touched by the cold these days and Zolf is used to leeching heat from him, so there’s no need to move.

Before long, they are both asleep.

#

Zolf wakes in the early hours of the morning, still enveloped in Oscar’s arms. He lies there for a few minutes, simply enjoying being held, before his bladder decides he needs to get up. Extricating himself from Oscar is a little difficult - the man is an octopus in bed, Zolf is certain he has more limbs than usual, perhaps compensating for his own lack in some bizarre twist of fate. He manages, eventually, and pads out to the bathroom.

On his return his eyes catch sight of the ship in a bottle, still sitting on the table in their living room. His dark vision means he can see the ship clearly, the slight tingling feel of its magic touching against his own power. It is a truly beautiful object, and of course Oscar thought of him when he found it. No matter how far he has come away from the worship of Poseidon, the sea is still a part of his soul, and watching the ship gently rock in its enchanted prison fills his heart with a kind of peace.

“You do truly like it?” he hears Oscar’s soft voice from the door to the bedroom.

Zolf looks up to see him leaning against it, naked as the day was young, positively glowing with health and vitality.

He is so very beautiful. Zolf can barely believe that he is real.

“I do,” he says. “You like your pen? I know it’s not quite as… flashy as the…”

“I adore it,” Oscar says. “I have composed three sonnets to you which I intend to write in the morning using it, you’ll be astonished and amazed at my eloquence.”

“Gods.”

Oscar steps forward, holding out a hand. “Come back to bed, Zolf.” 

He clasps Oscar’s hand and follows him back to their bed.

Behind him, in the moonlight from the window, his ship sails over gently rolling seas, strong and true.


End file.
